All for a Ring
by Tamagirl242
Summary: Sherlolly fanfic in which Molly Hooper and Sherlock have been together a year and a half and Sherlock's been acting kind of suspicious...
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: My first time writing a fanfic so reviews are greatly appreciated! Thanks! **** Any references taken from the series are completely intentional as I thought it would help develop their characters (please tell me if you think they act out of character!) **

**Disclaimer: None of the characters are mine (besides Ira, who I just randomly made up)**

**Dedicated to mayacakaia for suggesting the prompt! :)**

* * *

6 years since Sherlock's been "dead." 3 years since he's been proclaimed alive again. And, much (still) to Molly Hooper's infinite shock, an entire year and a half since they've started going out.

Not as an experiment, as Sherlock was so prone to conducting, but for real. She had made sure of it (Mycroft had revealed Sherlock's method of evaluating the "chemical effects" of love, as he so wittingly called them).

She held her breath carefully, her eyelids slowly fluttering open as soft curls appeared before her eyes. Her hand tightly clenching the pillow, afraid to move, her eyes devoured the elegant face lying right next to her.

Unbelievable. Sherlock. In bed. With her. Sometimes, she still couldn't believe her luck.

"You have been staring at me for approximately 17 minutes and 30 seconds, give or take 5 seconds, now, and you're most definitely thinking of me. I can _hear_ your brain whirring," a sleepy voice rumbled from the perfectly schooled features in front of her.

"Well, yes," she replied, blinking quite rapidly a few times.

Without opening his eyes, Sherlock continued.

"If I need provide further evidence of my actual existence, I am afraid we would be stuck in an infinitely regressive state where reason would fail to convince you otherwise. And don't look at me like that. It's obvious from your past behavior that's what you were thinking."

She opened her mouth.

"Don't bother to deny it. Just last Tuesday you clung onto my shirt as you made me watch that dreadful movie. The Notebook, was it? Obviously not a horror movie, so you couldn't have been scared. So why? Obviously because you wanted to reassure yourself of my presence.

"3 weeks ago at the restaurant, you stared at me when you thought I wasn't looking. A flicker of something passed through your eyes, and you smiled. Obvious. Must have been love, but you –"

Molly took in a shaky breath. Always. _Always._ What had she been hoping for? She had wished, dreamed that someday he might stop analyzing her and just take the time to _love_ her, but it seemed that dream would never come true. Turning to face away from him, she sat up quickly, and put on her slippers.

Sherlock's eyes popped open, and he got up on one elbow.

"Where are you going?"

"John told me I might need frequent walks," she answered tersely, and shut the bedroom door behind her. Grabbing his long coat from the chair in the living room (just to spite him), she changed into her running shoes and walked out the door.

_Sentiment_. He knew she loved him, but he couldn't bring himself to tell her that back. Not yet. As much as he hated to admit that his heart (reliably informed to be nonexistent) traitorously beat faster whenever she was near, he couldn't. His mouth twitched, and he flopped back into bed, throwing the covers over his head.

* * *

"Careful with that cadaver, Molly," Ira warned her, "you seem off today. Is something wrong?"

"Nothing," Molly replied.

Ira just stared at her.

"Alright," Molly finally relented, "It's Sherlock."

"Aha! I knew it was him!"

"I know I shouldn't expect him to change, and I love him because he's the way he is, but sometimes I still get frustrated, you know? It's like he doesn't care. And I know I'm being greedy, but I can't help it."

"Maybe he's cheating on you with John," Ira smirked.

Molly glanced at her sideways, still working on the most recent death just wheeled in.

"Don't be ridiculous."

Ira just shrugged.

"He wouldn't, not with another woman either," Molly stated emphatically, "you don't know him like I do."

But even as she said that, she thought of the many secretive texts he'd received (57, she counted), the talking that would stop as soon as he heard her coming up the stairs (phone calls, even she could deduce that much as John was never in when she checked), and his frequent disappearances (he would never tell her where he went). She shook her head.

No. She believed in him. More than that, she loved him, so she trusted him with all her heart. But even as she convinced herself of that, she couldn't help but think of the Woman, the only one who had gotten into his heart. What if…

She couldn't bear to think further.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: there's a LOT of dialogue in this one, so I hope it doesn't get too tedious to read. Same—please tell me if there are places where they're out of character or if I'm just writing horridly and could use a lot of constructive criticism. **

**Thanks!**

* * *

Just as Molly was about to insert the key into the lock, the door swung open.

"Welcome back."

She shoved past him, flinging his coat onto the sofa.

"You're frustrated with me."

This again.

"Yes, Sherlock."

"Well, why are you frustrated with me?"

"Take a wild, wild guess."

"Guessing is never an option. I would say it was my observations this morning, but they were completely accurate and –"

She could feel a strangled scream forcing its way up her throat.

Just then, his phone sighed. That made 58. Molly watched as Sherlock whipped his phone from his pocket, watched as a flicker of joy passed over his face before it disappeared.

She felt her heart stop. _No_.

"Who was that?" she blurted out, unable to stop herself.

She knew him so well that she almost wished she didn't. The sudden, slight tension in his mouth region. The twitch of his left hand's pinkie, a habit still left despite the fact he was clean now. An imperceptibly longer moment of silence as he formulated his thoughts.

_Don't._

"No one," Sherlock smiled a bit too brightly and swept past her. "I'm going out for a second, wait here."

_Liar._

"Was that the Woman?" she couldn't help it.

He paused in front of the doorway, not turning back around to face her. A moment later, his form disappeared down the stairs.

With great hiccupping sobs, Molly collapsed on the couch, wetting the coat that she still hadn't had the chance to take off with her tears. She had been so dumb, believing poor Molly Hooper, the pathologist who didn't even spend most of her time with live humans, could grab the great Sherlock Holmes' heart.

He may have been married to his work, but one woman got through. He may care for her, but she couldn't deceive herself into thinking he would ever love her. No. He was too rational for that. That Christmas, perhaps she should have just told him, yes, the present was for her boyfriend she planned on meeting later that night. Should have grabbed it, not let him seen, not given her heart away further. He wouldn't have kissed her; she wouldn't have had hope.

It would have saved her a lot of heartache.

* * *

Ouch. Molly woke up with drums pounding her head. As she slowly sat up, (how did she get here? Hadn't she been in the club?), she reached out a hand for the glass of water set on the bedside table.

"Here." The glass got shoved into her hand.

She gasped, nearly dropping the water. A steady hand reached out and steadied it before it could spill.

"Sherlock, please go. Just leave me alone." Tears threatened again.

"Talk to me. That's what people do—talk, right?"

"I don't think there's anything left to say."

"Do you trust me?"

"Do you trust _me_?" Molly fired back.

"Yes. Quite. With my life—quite literally—because I asked you to help me fake my death. Why? Because I trust you."

She groaned.

"So do you trust me?"

"Yes," she finally whispered.

"Then you know the Woman doesn't matter. She never did."

Molly was silent for a moment. Sherlock never explained himself. That just wasn't who he was.

"Thank you, Sherlock," she finally whispered, and looked at him for the first time. His crystal blue eyes were focused entirely on her, unnerving her. They were always the reason she stuttered. So clear, piercing your soul in a second, able to see through everything and everyone. And they still haven't lost their charm.

"Good." Sherlock finally said, and started to get up from the chair he had placed next to the bed.

"Sherlock."

"Yes?"

"I trust you."

He stood still, waiting for more.

"Because I love you."

He nodded jerkily.

"Yes. I know that. You've made it obvious enough." But still not the answer she wanted.

She hesitated.

"Do you love me?" she finally asked.

She saw him freeze. And her own heart froze along with him. _It will never happen. Just reconcile yourself with that._ She knew he wouldn't have an answer.

"Sherlock…" she began again.

He looked at her.

"I – I think…perhaps it's better…for us to just – just stop this now,"

"What do you mean?" his voice deepened.

"I mean, you don't want to waste time, right? And I still want to have kids, and I really hope to have them soon because I'm not getting any younger, and it's always been a dream of mine, you know, to have kids and live in a cozy little house somewhere peaceful –"

She felt a hand suddenly grab and tighten around her wrist, and she raised her head to look into crystal blue ones.

"Even if they're not mine? Even if they're someone else's? Do you want kids that much?" His hands shook as his breathing became labored, his eyes stormy. But why would he have a reason to be mad?

"Get dressed," he said tersely, grabbing a jacket and tossing it at her, "we're going out to dinner."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thanks so much for the reviews! :D They're all so nice and helpful Anyways, hope you enjoy, and thanks so much for everyone who favs/follows, it really means a lot! **

**I know exactly how the story's going to end, and so unfortunately there's only one more chapter left (this was meant to be a one-shot, whoops), but still same! Any suggestions are appreciated, and if you would like me to write another Sherlolly fanfic and have an idea, please PM me or message me on tumblr (my account is listed on my profile)!**

* * *

"Where are you taking me?" Molly scrambled to grab onto the door, dragging her feet.

"Don't be childish, Molly. I'm almost a foot and a half taller than you. Do you really believe your struggling will do anything?"

"I can always try," she glared at him. He heaved a sigh, ruffling his hair in impatience.

"Please do refrain from making a public spectacle of yourself or I will not be responsible for my actions," Sherlock opened the door of the apartment, ignoring her frantic clawing at the walls, dragging her outside.

She struggled out from his grip, planting her hands on her hips.

"Try me."

Sherlock's lips curved up. Grabbing her by the hips (and ignoring her indignant protests; the female species was so prone to drama), he tossed her over his shoulder.

"Let me _down_." Molly whisper-screamed, afraid to attract more attention to them than they were already receiving.

He didn't bother to reply.

"I don't understand why this was necessary," Molly stared at the sign above the small café in front of them. Tapas Brindisa Soho.

"Wait, isn't this where you waited for the murderer in 'A Study in Pink?'"

"Don't tell me. Not you too," Sherlock's voice rose slightly.

"Well, how did you expect me to know what you were up to? You never told," Molly quipped.

"Come on."

* * *

Glancing around the little café, she slid into the seat next to the window.

"Cozy little place," she remarked.

"Yes. Quite. I've also done a favor for Angelo before, so the items off the menu come cheap. Nine years ago, I proved to Lestrade at the time of a particularly –"

"– vicious triple murder that Angelo was elsewhere, house-breaking. Yes, I know," Molly remarked, flipping through the menu, "I read John's blog, remember?"

"Oh." For once, Sherlock was silent. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him scoot a little closer to her. Then a little bit more.

"Sherlock…" she began, but her breath caught in her throat as she fell into shimmering, crystal blue pools of emotion.

His lips a mere inch from hers, he whispered, "You know I care for you deeply, much more so than any other person. Had I not, we would not be together now."

She closed her eyes, waiting for his head to dip to meet hers. Who cares if he didn't love her? He cared for her. And Sherlock didn't used to do sentiment.

A sigh rang out, and Molly froze.

Sherlock cursed under his breath, jamming his hand into his pocket and pulling out his phone. His eyes flicking over the screen, he snapped it shut. With a sigh, he shut his eyes.

"Go," she finally said.

His eyes flickered open, glancing at her questioningly.

"I know you're married to your work," Molly's voice wobbled just a bit, but she felt she had overall done a wonderful job keeping the emotion out of it, "so just go."

He stared at her just a moment, his expression unfathomable, before he nodded jerkily and left.

And as observant as Sherlock was, as genius of a consulting detective as he was, he never looked back, never had the chance to see the keening of broken-hearted woman who believed she would never be first in his heart. He never saw her sobbing into her knees, rocking back and forth like a lost child. Never saw her heart break.

* * *

"Are you okay?" John, having come back to the flat to grab some of his clothes he'd left behind, carefully asked, as he took in the sight lying before him.

Clothes strewn all over the floor, a suitcase lying half-packed in the corner, a woman mechanically stuffing everything she could into a duffel bag.

"Hmm? Oh, yeah." Molly replied, sniffling.

John caught himself making excuses before he knew what he was doing.

"You know what he's like. He's always darting about, never a moment to rest. But he cares for us deeply. He loves you, Molly."

"No, John, he doesn't," she cut him off, her voice strangely mechanical, "But he also cares that woman more, doesn't he?" She didn't turn to face him, "she calls, and he just goes running.

"We all know Sherlock doesn't do sentiment, John. It's okay. I always knew that. Love is a fool's game. And Sherlock is no fool."

"He just needs time," John begged, trying to shake off the fear for Sherlock he suddenly felt. Despite what his friend did (or rather, didn't) say, he knew Sherlock loved Molly. He just wasn't ready to admit it yet. He didn't know what Sherlock would do if she left.

"I'm sorry, John."

He nodded.

"I understand."

"You won't tell him, right? You promise," Molly stepped closer, her eyes wide, "promise."

He hesitated.

"Alright," he finally conceded.

* * *

Sherlock returned to a darkened room. His heart dropped, his blood pounding in his ears. As much as he hated being a slave to his feelings, he couldn't deny their strength. He walked into the kitchen. A tea cup and a coffee cup. The contents: Earl Grey, and the other black. Obviously John had been back.

He immediately dialed his number.

"You never call," John began.

"Where's Molly?" he interrupted.

Silence.

"I'm sorry. She said I couldn't say."

"Where's. Molly." Sherlock's voice dropped dangerously low, his fist clenching until he could feel his nails piercing his skin.

"_Where is she?_" he asked again.

There was a soft sigh at the other end, and then dial tone.

With a growl, Sherlock threw himself onto the couch, his arm covering his face. After a moment of thought, he sat up, ruffling his hair in frustration. He reached for the phone again.

"Mycroft, I need a favor."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I'M SO SORRY FOR THE DELAY, BUT I HAD A BAJILLION TESTS AND I HATE SCHOOL SO MUCH. **

**But here it is! This is the last chapter, sorry guys! But feel free to submit suggestions for a new story through PM or tumblr! :)**

* * *

"What a surprise, little brother!" Mycroft drawled, then paused. "I was expecting you."

"Find Molly," Sherlock gritted through his teeth.

"Funny thing, you know. You calling," Mycroft ignored his question nonchalantly, "You normally text."

"Where. Is. She. You know where she is!" Sherlock nearly yelled, grabbing his gun and shooting at the smiley on the wall in frustration.

Mycroft brought the receiver away from his ear as the gunshot sounds resonated through the earpiece.

After a moment of silence, he gingerly brought it back to his ear.

"You know, this wouldn't be a problem if you would just explain yourself."

"I swear I will never solve a case for you again if you don't tell me where she is," Sherlock threatened in a low, dangerous tone.

Mycroft just sighed. Thank goodness. His little brother was finally gaining some perspective. If he had his way, they would have had their wedding a year ago.

Perhaps they would still have it yet.

"Paris," he simply stated.

The other line went dead.

* * *

She slowly strolled down the Pont Neuf, feeling the wind slap against her unbound hair. Wrapped in a thick coat, she could barely feel the winter chill but for the stinging on her cheeks.

Life was great, right? She didn't _need_ Sherlock. She could etch out a living here, find another morgue, or perhaps she would finally get to playing the cello on the streets like she had always wanted to try. She would own a little flat with flowers on the windowsills and a little twin sized bed and the romance books Sherlock never let her read (they would rot her brain, he said) stacked up on her bedside table. _She didn't need him._

Stopping in the middle of the bridge, she stared out at the waters.

"She did a favor for Mycroft, who then promised her three solved cases. That's why I had to go," a familiar voice sounded next to her left shoulder.

She didn't reply.

"You've changed your hairstyle. You've never worn a braid before. It looks good."

Molly simply continued to ignore him.

"Molly," she could hear the frustration in his voice, "_Answer me._"

It was a moment before she responded.

"I thought – I thought it was a good idea to change my hairstyle. Sort of symbolic of my new life. I've thought about it, you know. Living here. Never going back. I could be happy."

"Molly," Sherlock grabbed her shoulder and turned her to face him, his voice slightly higher pitched.

Pupils dilated. Nostrils flared. Arms shaking. Fear.

She lowered her eyes, refusing to meet his. She turned her head toward the water again.

"I think you've rubbed off on me, Sherlock. And maybe I've rubbed off on you. Since when did you feel fear?"

"Since you left me," Sherlock's voice shook, "Molly, _LOOK AT ME._"

She snapped.

"What, Sherlock? Go back to solving your cases. You never needed me anyways. I was always just a prop to you. You said habit was a dangerous thing. We –" she paused and gestured to them both, "– are just a habit."

"No," Sherlock sighed, "you're my sentiment. And I'm willing to be the losing side if that's what it takes to get you back. Molly, _I love you._"

She opened her mouth, then closed it again, the shock registering in her system. He loved her? The great Sherlock Holmes actually loved Molly Hooper, the mousy pathologist?

Sherlock shuffled his feet, looking a bit nervous. Molly simply stared. He never looked nervous.

"Molly, I haven't said it because I wanted to save it for a special occasion. I've never said that to anyone before, and I wanted it to be special," he spoke rapidly, nearly tripping over his words.

Then, to her utter shock, he got down on one knee, in front of all the passersby who had stopped to stare and then gasp in excitement.

He pulled out a velvet box from his pocket, opening it to reveal a jade ring.

"It was my grandmother's," he explained, "I thought you might appreciate the sentiment. I even had to go beg my mother for it," he tried to elicit a bit of sympathy from her expressionless face.

He took a deep breath.

"Molly Hooper, I used to think you were just a tool to get body parts from –," he winced as the people around them gasped in shock and horror, "– but, subconsciously, I began to collect bits of pieces of you in my mind palace. I never meant – never meant to keep the way you smell or the way you bite the left side of your lip when you're nervous in my memory. I thought I could avoid love forever, it was just an easily understood chemical process that I could control and manipulate. I didn't mean to fall in love with you. And I didn't mean to mess everything up. I thought everyone was stupid for caring about social convention as long as I could give them the answers they wanted, even when John told me time after time that I was pissing everybody off. It didn't matter. _They_ didn't matter. But you do. More than you'll ever know," he finally paused for breath, "I fell in love the way you fall asleep: slowly, then all at once,"

He noticed the flicker of recognition of her favorite quote in her eyes.

"Molly Hooper, will you marry me?"

She saw the uncertainty in his eyes. Uncertainty. She couldn't remember the last time she had seen that from him. He was always so sure, so confident in his abilities. She wanted to laugh and cry and jump for joy and just collapse and never get up all at the same time at watching Sherlock like this. Her Sherlock. Her stupid, great lug of a genius.

"Yes," she cried, and Sherlock jumped up, pulling her close and smashing his lips over hers as the crowd around them cheered.

They didn't see Mycroft standing a little distance away, leaning on his black umbrella, a smirk on his face.

* * *

**Now for answers to some reviews...**

SammyKatz: UGH OK THAT'S SUCH A GOOD IDEA I MIGHT USE THAT FOR THE NEXT STORY BUT I HAVE TO WATCH MORE DOCTOR WHO i've only watched 2 seasons so i don't him that well but yes hubba hubba

Crooney83: thanks so much for commenting i've seen you several times but im a newbie to the site didn't know all the ins and outs T_T but yes i've wrapped it up XD haha i was so afraid i would leave some detail just hanging so i hope this ending works for you? It's all mycroft's fault :P

Guest: On the advice with his relationship - oh man you guessed it so I couldn't use it anymore, haha can't make it expected :P But i made sherlock a little more of a better person I guess because I personally would be pissed off at him if he was asking relationship advice from her so now he's a victim! :)


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